Pancake
by Vikitty
Summary: Booth takes care of Brennan after he finds her drunk at the Jeffersonian.


Pancake

**Disclaimer:** I don't own "Bones" or any of the characters associated with "Bones"… I wish I did though.  
**Pairings:** Booth/Brennan  
**Spoilers: **None. Unless you've never seen an episode of "Bones" before…  
**Summary: **Booth takes care of Brennan after he finds her drunk at the Jeffersonian.

_A/N:_This fic was written for my friend Caitlin (Draven Diabella on FFN; tatermae on LJ)! Thanks for being my beta/cheerleader, and thanks for being there for me (no, I was not drunk, but there was a break up involved, although I'm surprisingly cheery…)!

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Dr. Temperance Brennan was lying on the couch in her office when Special Agent Seeley Booth found her at the Jeffersonian Institute's Medico-Legal Lab. He immediately understood Angela's panic on the phone earlier - the woman didn't even acknowledge him, but just continued staring at the ceiling, completely oblivious to her surroundings.

"Bones?"

Silence.

He walked slowly into the room, uncomfortable yet concerned. There were several empty beer bottles lying around the redhead.

"Bones…"

"Don't call me Bones," Brennan said, sitting up. Her eyes were glazed over and swollen from crying. "What are you doing here? If you have a case, just leave the file on my desk. I'll take a look at it later." She downed the last of the beer in her hand and reached for a new one on the carpeted floor.

Booth took it away immediately. "Why are you drinking, Bones? You never get drunk, especially not here at the lab."

Brennan shook her head. "It's nothing, Booth."

"Like hell it's nothing. Your words are all slurred together. How much have you had?" Booth started counting the bottles.

"It's none of your business!" Brennan yelled, standing up and kicking over the empty bottles. One of them hit the wall so hard it shattered. Booth just stared at it as Brennan stumbled over to him. "What. Are. You. Doing. Here," she ground out, grabbing his arms to steady herself. Booth winced inwardly – she was strong. He saw the pain in her pale blue eyes and a lump formed in his throat.

"I came by to wish you a Merry Christmas. I figured, since you were here last Christmas, you would be here this year too," Booth lied. In reality, Angela had called several hours earlier, saying she had lost her best friend in a crowd at the bar. He didn't get the whole story – just that Brennan had been feeling depressed – before his cell phone died.

Brennan backed down and splayed out on the couch again. "Merry Christmas to you too, Booth. Now give me back my beer."

Booth settled himself on the floor in front of Brennan and stared her in the face. "No."

"I'm serious, give it back or I'll kick your ass," she murmured.

He chuckled. "Only if you share, Bones…"

"Fine, I get first sip."

"No, I meant 'share'…" Booth whispered, putting his head on the couch next to hers. His hand itched to move the stray hair that had fallen across her face.

Brennan's eyes narrowed. "It's nothing," she said quietly. "Why aren't you with Parker?"

"He's with his mother in Florida at Disneyworld. I'll see him before New Year's though."

"And Tessa?"

Booth shook his head and smiled at her. "You answer my question first."

Brennan's eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. "What was your question?"

"Why are you drunk?" he asked.

"Because," she mumbled into the couch, "Christmas is cursed. It's like, 'let's abandon Temperance' time."

"Bones—"

"And it's not just Christmas," she squeaked, hating herself for breaking down. "People have told me that I'm cold and distant, but that's just my personality. It's me. How can I not be myself? I don't know how to not be myself."

"Temperance, I wouldn't—I mean, we, the squints and I, wouldn't want you to not be yourself. We're still here," Booth said, finally giving in to his desire to move that stray strand. Her hair was as soft as it looked.

"Only because they work with me, and Zack's my student," Brennan said, reaching with her free hand for the only bottle of beer left. She took a few quick sips. "They're… stuck with me."

"Oh, please, Bones," Booth said, "you can't really believe that."

She stared at the bubbles in the beer for what seemed like forever, and in turn, he stared at her for what seemed like forever. _She's so beautiful…_

"Bones? Why are you feeling sorry for yourself?"

"I'm not," Brennan said, flipping around so she was staring at the ceiling again. "Just… stating the facts."

"I'm not going to speak for the Squint Squad, but personally, I'm just a tad bit offended that you believe I don't care."

A sad laugh escaped Brennan's lips. "Is that why you're here then, Booth?" she asked.

Booth nodded, taking several gulps of his partner's beer.

Brennan turned her head so she was looking at Booth. Sure, there were times when she would watch him, like when he drove, but she had never studied him this closely before. The black button up shirt he was wearing turned his soulful brown eyes into drowning pools. He was staring back just as intensely and she could only guess what was going through his mind – she knew desire when she saw it though. Her heart skipped a beat, and she glanced away quickly, not knowing what to make of it. The alcohol really didn't help with rationality.

He felt a sense of loss when those blue eyes left his, but also slight relief. They've had moments like these before, and it was always awkward. Clearing his throat, he stood up and did a double take when he saw Angela Montenagro leaning against the door jam with a mischievous grin on her face.

"Angela," Booth said, swallowing hard. "How long have you been standing there?" Brennan sat up and immediately put her hands to her head.

Her grin turned into a full, teasing smile. "Too long," Angela said. And then turning to Brennan, she added, "Why did you go in such a hurry? You left your purse and everything at the bar."

"Uh—I, uh—" Brennan stuttered, trying to get her spinning head under control. "I need a bathroom," she whispered.

Angela jumped forward and steadied Brennan to walk her to the bathroom.

Booth watched them go before grabbing the small brush and dustpan hidden underneath Brennan's desk to sweep up the broken bottle near the wall. Each sweep brought back flashes of her anger—the way she grabbed his arms, the pain in her eyes and the anguish in her voice. She's known nothing but pain all her life. It's no wonder she can't connect with anybody who doesn't speak Textbook. He sighed, considering himself lucky that they could communicate without too much trouble. They respected each other's methods of solving crimes, and had come to rely on bouncing ideas off each other. Actually, now that he thought about it, she was probably his best friend, though he would never admit it to her. Shaking his head at his silliness, Booth went back to cleaning up the office.

"Are you all right, sweetie?" Angela asked, keeping her best friend's hair from dipping into the toilet. Brennan mumbled something incoherent. "What was that?"

"I don't know. I felt nauseous in my office, but I'm feeling better here. I think it's because of the open window," Brennan said, leaning against the side of toilet stall. "Help me up, Ang."

Angela pulled the redhead up and started walking out of the stall when she felt Brennan's feet give away. "Whoa, sweetie?" she asked, trying to keep the both of them from falling onto the floor. She knew the Jeffersonian kept everything sparkly clean, but… it was still the bathroom. "Bren?"

No response.

"Oh great, what am I supposed to do?" Angela said out loud. She reached for the cell phone in her pocket and dialed Brennan's office number.

"Merry Christmas, Dr. Brennan's office," Booth chimed out.

"Merry Christmas, Seeley. You have a great voice! You should be a phone sex operator."

A hearty laugh came from Booth. "Angela?"

"Yeah, hi. Can you come to the bathroom? Brennan passed out against me and I don't know how to move her without dropping her," Angela said.

"Oh, yeah, of course! I'll be right there."

Click.

"Oh, Brennan," Angela sighed, shifting her friend so Brennan would stop sliding down.

Footsteps echoed outside the bathroom. "Angela?"

"We're right here!"

The FBI agent appeared around the corner and grinned at the sight of the two women. Brennan's arm was draped over Angela's shoulder, and the only thing holding her up was the fact that Angela was leaning at an angle so Brennan's body had something to lean against. "I guess we should take her home then," Booth said, scooping Brennan effortlessly into his arms. She was very light for somebody her height, he mused.

"Actually, my dad's coming to pick me up and we're going out to a bar," Angela said, following Booth to the front door. She opened it for him, since his arms were full.

"All right," Booth said. "Stay inside the Jeffersonian until your dad comes, okay? Just because it's the Christmas doesn't mean there aren't rapists."

"My, aren't you cheery." Angela beamed him her best smile. _Damn, he's fine._

Booth grinned back before walking off to the parking lot. He looked down at the woman in his arms, and his smile softened. Brennan's cheeks were flushed from the alcohol, which made her look extremely beautiful. And those lips…

-----

She opened her eyes slowly, groaning at the throbbing pain in her head. Reaching her hands up to rub the sleep from her eyes, Brennan stared at the sleeves in confusion. Wasn't she wearing a tank top last night? And this white silk shirt was definitely not made to fit her, seeing as it was several sizes too big.

She sat up and put her feet onto the hardwood floor. Where were her jeans? _What happened last night?_

She was sitting on a king-sized bed. The wooden bed frame matched the hardwood underneath her feet. Actually, everything in the room matched. The shades of brown and maize were soothing to her eyes, which were a bit swollen. _Oh right_, she thought, _I was at the bar with Angela, because of David…_

Her eyes landed on the side table and she smiled a little; whoever took care of her last night had left water and aspirin. She took one to ease her headache before leaving the room. She followed the smell of something sweet and ended up walking down a long hallway. _Wait a minute... _

Booth was sitting at his kitchen table, drinking a mug of black coffee and gazing at a picture of him and Tessa. A plate of pancakes, untouched, sat in front of him. He sighed and threw the picture down. It was over. She had left a not-so-nice message on his answering machine last night, when he was still at the Jeffersonian Institute with Bones and Angela. "Son of a bitch," he whispered, before hearing a gasp to his right. His breath caught in his throat.

Temperance Brennan was standing in the doorway, looking lost and uncertain in one of his shirts, which only reached her mid-thigh. Her soft, red hair was down and was tousled in a way only a small percentage of women could pull off and still look innocent. Her rosy cheeks and red lips made her look innocent and naïve. She was, simply put, indescribably beautiful. He was suddenly conscious that he was only wearing an unbuttoned pair of jeans. Clearing his throat, Booth stood up and waved Brennan over to the seat beside him. "Good morning," Booth said, his voice husky. He felt his face grow warm and he looked away, trying to focus on anything but the woman walking towards him.

Confused, she said, "Where are my clothes?"

"Sit down, I made breakfast," Booth replied, gesturing at the chair.

Brennan sat down, squinting at Booth in puzzlement. He was ignoring her question, and she didn't like that. "Where are my clothes?" she repeated.

"I hope you're in the mood for pancakes," he said, picking up his own fork and knife.

"Why won't you answer my question?" Brennan asked, picking up her set of utensils.

"'I thought it was good to start with good morning'," Booth quoted her before stuffing his mouth full of pancake. Heaviness settled over his heart when Brennan looked down at the slice of pancake on her plate in dismay. The way she looked now reminded him of how she looked yesterday at her office when she yelled at him. "I'm sorry," he apologized quietly. "Your clothes got... dirty. I swear though, I was a perfect gentleman," he added with a half smile, hoping that would lighten the mood.

A smile tugged at the corner of Brennan's lips. "Dirty?"

They ate in silence, glancing at each other occasionally when they thought the other wasn't looking, when in reality they were very much aware of each other's presence.

Brennan ended up speaking first, having finished her one slice of pancake before Booth's three slices. "How's Tessa?" she asked.

Booth put down the coffee. "I don't know," he said, his brown eyes falling on the photo on the table again. "She, uh, she broke up with me over a voicemail last night," he chuckled, trying to make the best of the situation.

Brennan looked up from her plate when she heard the anguish in his voice. "I'm sorry," she said, reaching out a hand to comfort him. He accepted it silently. She continued talking, her eyes still on him. "David broke up with me last night, too. It came as a shock, because I thought things were going well. I don't usually dr—"

"You don't have to explain your actions to me, Temperance," Booth said, meeting her eyes.

She opened her mouth several times like a fish, but no words came out.

The doorbell rang suddenly, and Booth went to get it, gently slipping his hand out from under hers.

Brennan watched him disappear into the foyer before letting out a shaky breath. This was too… 'intense,' as Angela would say. Her emotions were out of control and she didn't like that. It was probably the alcohol and the after effects, she assured herself, and having your heart broken didn't help either. Brennan nodded to herself. You can always rely on rationality, she thought, chewing on a piece of pancake. But all that flew out the window when Booth came back into the kitchen, still shirtless and pants unbuttoned, looking slightly amused.

"What?" she asked, standing up.

Then Angela appeared at the kitchen door.

The first thing that popped out of Brennan's mouth was, "It's not what it looks like."

"Really?" Angela smirked. Brennan looked helplessly at Booth, who shrugged and sat down for some more pancakes. She silently scolded her brain for observing the FBI agent's movements, especially how smoothly his muscles moved. Frustrated, Brennan stormed out of the kitchen.

Angela sat down next to Booth helped herself to some pancakes. "These are getting cold," she commented. "But they're delicious! So, what really happened?"

"Well, after we left the Jeffersonian, I brought her back and was going to let her sleep on the couch. But she, uh," he paused and looked in the direction of his bedroom. He heard Brennan moving around, clearly distracted. Lowering his voice, he continued, "She got sick on herself… that's why she's in one of my shirts."

Angela raised an eyebrow. There was a teasing smile on her face when she said, "So you undressed her? Ooh-la-la."

Booth gave her a withering look just as Brennan came waltzing back into the kitchen. "I see you found your own clothes, no problem. Are they dry yet?" he asked, giving her his charm smile.

"Yes they are, thank you," Brennan sighed. "I assume you've come to take me home?" she asked Angela, who still wore that silly grin on her face. Angela nodded. "Well then, let's go," Brennan urged, starting for the door. She turned around to say goodbye to Booth. He was watching her with those soulful brown eyes. Her breath caught in her throat, and with it was Booth's own distinct scent, one which she took comfort from. It was like she could taste him, and that scared her more than ever. "Um, thank you, again," she said, breaking eye contact. "I guess we'll continue our talk later?"

Booth nodded. "Take care," he said, quietly.

Angela stood up and headed for the front door. "Get a room, you two," she sang.

Hearing Booth chuckle as she walked out the door made her blush. Luckily, Angela didn't look back, which spared her from even more teasing. Halfway to the car, she looked back. The FBI agent was standing in the doorway, shirtless, hands in his pockets. He waved lazily. She smiled back before getting into the passenger seat, thinking, _I'm lucky he's in my life_.


End file.
